


041 - An Unhappy Ending

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Maybe a really sad fic? Breaking up with Van, something that doesn’t have a happy ending.”





	041 - An Unhappy Ending

You counted the knots in the wooden floorboards as you laid in bed, hanging off it touching the ground. Van walked into the bedroom, eating a banana. It was maybe his fourth of the day.

"You have to eat something other than bananas, Van,"

"Potassium, love,"

"Do you even know what potassium is?" you replied and there was a pause. "You just can't be bothered cooking anything." He frowned. Your voice was monotone so it sounded harsher than you meant it to be.

"What's wrong?"

Nothing. Nothing was wrong; everything was fine. That is what you'd been telling yourself for days. You told Van the same, and he knew you were lying but didn't push it. He asked again over dinner, which you cooked. You replied with the same thing. Everything was just peachy.

You'd been at your friend's house with Van, and she was trying to persuade you to take home a new puppy. Van argued that Mary was enough, but as you cuddled a baby blue heeler, you were very convincible. You made the puppy's little paw wave at Van.

"Hello, Van," you spoke for it. "Look at how cute I am. My name is Niamh and I love you,"

"Look, babe," Van started, smiling but standing to walk away. "I live with you, that's all the cute I need. Besides, I'm saving Niamh for our firstborn."

That was it. You knew that Van wanted children, but you'd never really imaged what that would look like. When you started to picture it, that's when the trouble began. When? While he was back home? But then he'd be writing and recording probably. Fine, but he'd tour again straight away if there was a new album. He'd miss the first year of the kid's life. On tour? An infant without a bedroom wasn't good enough. Later, after Catfish was done? You looked at how happy Van was on stage and you knew it wouldn't just be done. You didn't want it to be done for him. It seemed impossible. Starting a family and being a musician seemed incompatible in your head, and you wanted to know his plan. He was the type of person to eat bananas for an entire weekend to avoid cooking though. It therefore seemed unlikely he'd planned anything out.

After two more days, when you were still distant and moody, Van forced it out of you. You were curled up on the couch reading The Girl With All The Gifts when he took the book out of your hands and sat down in front of you.

"You're not okay and it's killin' me," he pleaded. You sat up and hugged a throw pillow close to you.

"You want kids, yeah?" He nodded. "When? How? How's that going to work, Van?" His troubled face relaxed, and he sat up straight and laughed.

"Babe! I thought something was really wrong! You're just thinking about babies?"

"Van. It's not going to work. Even if it's in a few years, are you going to be able to take years off?" you challenged.

"I don't know. Haven't thought 'bout it. It will work out. Little kids love holidays. Touring will be like a holiday," he was optimistic and it clouded both logic and his ability to see how upset you were.

"Little kids are babies first, and they don't love holidays. I'm serious. I just… You're going to have to choose at some point, and it would be stupid to give up the band," you maintained. He read your expression then.

"I won't have to give anything up, Y/N. We'll make it work."

His sanguine visions of the future not only did nothing to reassure you or kill the anxiety sitting deep in you, but they started to breed contempt. You were angry that he was dismissive. He'd never struggled in life and he had no evidence to suggest everything wouldn’t work out, it always had for him after all, but to be naïve was still a transgression you couldn't overlook.

You were at your friend's house playing with the puppies again when her sister arrived with her newborn. You offered to hold the baby while they had some time to catch up. His name was Che and he was perfect. You watched his curious eyes take in as much information as they could. His little fingers curled around one of yours. His nose was teeny tiny. You held back tears and felt the list of priorities in your head shift. Work and career dropped two places and swapped with seeing your family more. Trying the new cocktails with the glitter in them at the rooftop bar you loved disappeared from the list completely. Van, who had sat in first place for so long, dropped to second.

When you got home Van was on the phone. You could hear plans being laid for the next album. You went out into the back garden and watered the veggie patch. You tried not to cry as you thought about a little baby Van crawling at your feet while you handed them fresh peas from the pod. Van came out of the house and sat on the edge of one of the planter boxes.

"They were really liked the album," he reported. You knew if Capitol liked The Ride then he'd be touring for a long time. They toured on The Balcony for years and years. "I know that's not what you wanted to hear, though."

"Van, of course it is!" you softly protested. You stood in front of him and rested your wrists on his shoulders, arm out straight. "This is what I want for you,"

"But it's not what you want,"

"It's not like that. I just… I want a baby. I thought I could wait and I didn't even realise that it's what I really wanted, but… it is. We're not… We're not at the same place anymore." It sounded so final. A conclusion. He looked up at you and you could see the panicked thoughts race through his mind.

"What are you saying?"

"Maybe we-"

"Please don't fucking do this," he interrupted standing up and taking a step back. "Y/N," he begged.

"You have to keep doing this Van. The band is important and bigger than just you. And I have to do what is good for me,"

"I'm good for you! And you're good for me and we belong together, Y/N. We have a fucking house and we're meant to have fun and then have babies and grow old and it will be like that," he was in the first stages of grief and his eyes were glassy with tears.

"I know. Fuck. I really fucking know, Van, but…"

"But nothing. I love you. I will always pick you. If you do this, I will quit the fucking band and-"

"Van. You can't. Legally you can't. Morally you can't. Just. Stop. You're going to be fine," you asserted and the calmness in your voice was deceptive.

"I'm not going to be fine. What the fuck!" He pulled at his hair and turned around. He crouched down on the ground. You carefully walked around him and knelt in front. He was crying and it was maybe the second or third time you'd ever seen it happen.

"I'm sorry," you offered but he looked at you like you'd just violently pushed your fist through his ribcage and wrenched his heart out. For all intents and purposes, you may as well have.

You stayed with your parents for a few nights and considered changing your mind. Then, after another visit with Che you knew the heartbreak would be mended one day. Van sat on the bench out the front of your house and refused to help move your boxes into the truck. He smoked through almost an entire pack. When you almost dropped a box of records though, he stood up and took it from your hands. Your fingers brushed against his and it felt like fire.

Van called every day and it was nearly impossible to ignore the calls. Sometimes you'd pick up, and give him the time to present his argument. He had new ways of how a family and a band could coexist, but the logistics never worked out. His friends called and begged you to put him back together. Your mum even straight out told you it was a mistake. When you drove past the house and an ugly For Sale sign was out the front, you almost believed her.

Eventually you healed, and the intense love you felt for Van mellowed into a warm memory. You'd always love him, but you had to believe that you needed to love yourself more. When you bumped into him a year later, when he was finally back in the country, it didn't hurt. You could see it wasn't the same for him, and he hugged you for a little too long, but you were okay.

When your firstborn tumbled out into the world a year and a half after that, you knew everything was always leading to this moment. Van came to visit you. He shook your partner's hand and said congrats. He left you and Van alone. Van sat on a chair and looked into the plastic hospital crib.

"She's perfect, Y/N," he whispered.

"Yeah,"

"You did the right thing,"

"I know,"

He turned back to you and smiled. Tears were rolling down your cheeks and you didn't know if you were sad or happy or just exhausted. Van used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe them away.


End file.
